


Just Like Paper Caught In The Wind

by electroniccannibalism



Series: Of Wings And City Skies [2]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Wings, M/M, Multi, gay angels that like coffee, incredibly self indulgent gosh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 02:15:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6404590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electroniccannibalism/pseuds/electroniccannibalism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Let's just say Pete is having a little bit of a problem<br/>First off: His boyfriend Mikey doesn't know all that much about him, in fact, nothing at all really<br/>Secondly: His boyfriend's brother Gerard seems to be obsessed with finding out about a topic Pete is really quite familiar with, but he can't let him know about it<br/>Thirdly: The band that he's part of is starting to gain popularity, and Pete doesn't know if he can handle that<br/>And lastly: Pete has wings.<br/>And a lot of people seem to resent people with wings.<br/>Pete isn't quite sure if Mikey would be okay with that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Like Paper Caught In The Wind

“Who is he?” I ask curiously, staring across the café at the boy who has managed to grab my attention. I begin to trace the wood patterns of the shared table, and return my gaze to Patrick sitting across from me. He’s buried in a music magazine of sorts, his blue-grey eyes scanning quickly across the page behind his glasses. He pauses and looks up at me, pushing his ginger hair out of the way and making eye contact.  
“And who are you talking about?” He asks, shifting his glasses to sit further up the bridge of his nose. I incline my head to the boy across the room, sitting by the glass front of the café.  
“The one with the glasses over there.” I whisper. Patrick studies him for a moment before returning his focus to me.  
“I’ve seen him around before, I think he’s in some local band. His name is Mikey, I think? Heard he’s a social recluse or something,” Patrick says in a disinterested tone, taking a sip of coffee.  
I study the boy by the window.  
He is wearing a Joy Division shirt and skinny black jeans, with the addition of a grey beanie that loosely fit over his limp brown hair. He has a pair of black and white glasses balanced on the end of his nose, his focus currently on a magazine sitting on the wooden table, shifting occasionally in the uncomfortable metal chair.  
“He’s cute,” I blurt out. Patrick laughs quietly, and I shoot him a dirty look.  
“What’s so funny?” I ask irritably. He shakes his head, grinning, and going back to reading. I annoyingly cross my arms on the table and sink into them, my gaze returning to the boy I have come to know as Mikey Way.  
A moment of silence passes through sips of coffee.  
“Well if you’re not going to talk to him on your own, I’m going to make you,” Patrick says, his voice absent.  
“You know I risk falling in love with him ‘Trick,” I sigh softly.  
“Well are you sure he isn’t like you?” He asks, raising an eyebrow at me, his gaze not lifting from the magazine. I shake my head.  
“No, definitely not. We can sort of, well, sense each other’s presences? He’s just like you Patrick, completely normal,” I admit, my fingers fumbling with the coffee cup.  
Patrick closes the magazine and places it on the table, and turns his full attention to me.  
“You know you could always just, like, not tell him? Like you could tell him eventually but just figure out whether he’s alright with people like you.” He replies with a strained smile. I sit back up, my gaze flickering from the table to Mikey.  
“Yeah, maybe,” I reply. Patrick flashes a huge grin and springs up from his chair, gripping my forearm and dragging me up with him.  
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I hiss. Patrick turns to face me as he drags me across the café.  
“Its called meeting people, you know, how to make friends and all that,” he replies, and then stops at the table in front of us.  
Mikey looks up us, both startled and confused.  
I feel myself start to panic.  
“Hey, I’m Patrick, this is Pete. He wanted to know more about your band.” Patrick says, nudging me with his elbow. My mouth feels dry and I look down at my shoes, my face feeling hot.  
“Yeah, I, uh, well I’m in a band too and I just wanted to, well, get to know some other local bands too,” I choke out, my gaze flickering from the ground to Mikey.  
Mikey stares at me, still looking vaguely confused.  
“I can’t really talk right now, we need to… go somewhere,” I stammer. Without being consciously aware of it, I find myself grabbing a napkin and pulling a sharpie out of my pocket, and start hastily scribbling my number on it.  
“Maybe we could talk later?” I ask, dropping the napkin to the table. My voice is quivering, and I can feel myself shaking. The room seems to waver a bit, the corners of my vision being swallowed by darkness.  
He doesn't say anything as he picks up the napkin and Patrick moves me towards the door.

I fall to my knees soon as I get outside, my arms stiffly trembling as they hold my body away from the cold concrete pavement, spattered with small dots of rain.  
“Pete, what the hell was that? Are you okay?” Patrick asks harshly, crouching down to my level. I breathe in deeply, closing my eyes and trying to get my heart rate back to normal.  
“I think it was a panic attack,” I gasp, forcing myself to sit back on my legs and just breathe.  
“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t know that that would happen, like, that hasn’t happened for a long time. You were getting a lot better when it came to meeting people,” he admits guiltily.  
“It’s fine, I, I don't know what happened there. I’m usually okay,” I reply. Patrick gives me a strained smile and stands back up, offering me his hand. I take it and he pulls me up.  
I still feel unsteady on my feet. Part of me wanted to go back to the café, since out here is was windy and cold and starting to rain.  
But I couldn’t go back and talk to Mikey again.  
“Oh look, it’s one of those birdfolk!”  
“Oh no, its worse than that! That's a bloody birdfag!”  
I feel myself freeze as I hear the shouts and swing my head in the general direction of the yelling. A teenager with long sweeping fringe stands in the street, his wide eyes, rimmed with a glimpse of eyeliner, filled with fear. His hand is tightly gripping the hand of another teenager, a guy sporting a short brown fringe and a lilac purple hoodie standing protectively in front of the other boy. Both had scrapes and cuts on their faces, and two random pedestrians stood near them, obviously the tormentors. The injuries weren’t fresh; no punches had been thrown recently.  
He unfurls a pair of huge grey wings with lines of chocolate brown dashed across them and raises them defensively around him and the other boy.  
“Well aren’t you guys brave? Pick on the random kid with wings and his boyfriend?” The winged boy snarkily retorts, which causes his two tormentors start getting visibly angry, and the other boy’s face flushes from the ‘boyfriend’ comment, but he still looks terrified.  
“Brendon, we should go,” the other boy’s voice wavers as he speaks. The winged kid, who I was assuming was Brendon, steps back dejectedly to the other boy’s side, lowering his wings and folding them close to his back.  
“It’s fine Ryan, we’re leaving anyway,” he says, his voice laced with malice towards their tormentors. Ryan presses himself close to Brendon’s side as they walk away together.  
“Uh, Pete? You okay?” Patrick asks. I turn towards him and nod.  
“Yeah, just watching… that, unfold,” I reply slowly.  
We stand in silence for a moment.  
“Well, I was thinking we should probably head back to the flat now, unless you need to do anything,” he suggests.  
“Yeah, I might just take a moment, I’ll see you there later,” I reply. Patrick gives me a small smile and walks down the street before turning a corner and disappearing from my vision completely.  
The rain starts falling more heavily, soaking through my clothes. I untied the black hoodie from around my waist and slipped it over my head.  
Maybe I should just head back now.  
Suddenly I heard the slamming of feet on pavement and watched a blur of a person run past me, towards the direction of the bus stop, where the bus is driving off down the street. The figure skids to a stop and slumps over in defeat, before drawing themselves up to full height again.  
It’s Mikey.  
He pulls the ridiculous grey trench coat he has on closer to himself to protect himself from the rain.  
I felt a pang of pity for him.  
Without thinking, I pull the hood of my jacket up over my head, obscuring my face and walk down the street to where Mikey stands, my heart racing and my legs feeling shaky again.  
I stand next to him, leaving about a metre between us. Mikey glances at me uncomfortably, but I turn my head so he doesn’t know it’s me.  
The silence between us is thick and deafening, and my own heart seems to drown out the downpour that is happening at the moment.  
3.  
2.  
1.  
I unfold my wings out from under the hoodie.  
I shift the left wing to hover over where Mikey stands, sheltering him from the rain. He looks up in astonishment and lightly brushes his fingertips over the raven black primary feathers, his touch so light I can barely feel it.  
He goes to take a glance at my face, but I turn my head again. I look at some people a few metres away, who shoot me dirty looks.  
I try not care.

After a solid fifteen minutes, another bus shows up. Mikey steps out from underneath my wing and climbs onto the bus. I lower my head to the ground as he turns around and gives me a grateful smile, before taking a seat as the bus moves on again. I quickly retract my wings, folding them back underneath the rain-soaked hoodie and start to make my way towards the flat a couple of blocks away.  
Then my phone buzzes.  
I pull the phone from my pocket, flipping up the screen to read the message.  
‘hey, its mikey from earlier. hope to speak soon x’  
I shut the screen of the phone and slip it back into my pocket, and start uncontrollably grinning.

**Author's Note:**

> this entire story title is taken from the song 'Boy About Town'  
> and this chapter title is from 'Brother" by Gerard Way  
> this is also a rewrite of my original story 'These Wings Were Meant To Get Us Both Out Of Here' but i personally prefer this version it isn't as cringy


End file.
